Today, the ninth of September of 1978,
I had in the palm of my hand one small disc
of the three hundred sixty-one that are needed
for the astrologic game of Go,
that other chess of the East.

It is older than the oldest writing
and the board is a map of the universe.

Its black and white variations
will exhaust time.

Men can be lost in it
as in love and day.

Today, the ninth of September of 1978,
I, myself, who am ignorant of so many things,
know that I do not know one more,
and I thank my poetic inspiration
for this revelation of a labyrinth
which will never be mine.